


A Divine Hunger

by ThylacineLily



Series: Kaster Lock [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Kaster!Lock, M/M, Priest!John, Suspence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2104755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThylacineLily/pseuds/ThylacineLily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The human would let him in, he would offer up his gems, the bait would be taken, and food would be home soon enough. It was all very simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Divine Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> This story happened because I saw a picture done by an on-line artist called Humon, and you can see it to by going to the URL: http://humon.deviantart.com/art/Kaster-439881577 . I would actually suggest going here before you read on, because it also explains what I was going with =)
> 
> Also, I do hope you enjoy the remainder of this story, as well as getting to see it from Sherlock's perspective.

Sherlock Holmes was cold, and thoroughly soaked, in his spot atop the roof of a small home that was across from the house he was watching. He could feel the rain was going to come earlier, but nature was unpredictable, as always, and instead of a light shower like he had been expecting, it was pouring down. His blanket could normally repel a certain amount of water, but this storm had exceeded its limits and the fabric was quickly soaked and weighed down with the rain water, clinging to his body like a second skin. His mark of choice for the evening should have been home long before now, and he was contemplating finding someone else for the evening when he noticed the figure walking up the road.  
  
 _ **Why are you walking in this storm?**_ Sherlock thought as the figure passed under a street lamp, showing just who he was watching; it was his targeted priest. **_Well the car was sure to fail sooner or later, having a dying alternator. Should have replaced it months ago, before it could leave you stranded,_** he mused to himself.  
  
Usually Sherlock reserved spots in his mind palace for important matters, things that he actually needed information about. Seeing as he was a Kaster, who sometimes needed to disable a car so victims could not get away, knowledge on how to quickly disable a vehicle was highly valuable.  
  
As the priest disappeared into his home, the porch light flicked off, but a light inside came on, showing the inside of the home through the thin curtains that might as well have been sheer with how little they hid. Sherlock watched the man as he easily got a fire going in his fireplace. _He's got the outdoors knowledge to get a fire going properly... Interesting. It's either from time spent camping, or time spent without electricity in general._  
  
A light in the left rear of the small home came on, illuminating part of the backyard and drawing Sherlock's attention to that part of the house. No windows were visible from his location so he waited patiently for the man to come back into view. His reward for his patience was the view of the completely nude form of his victim as the man walked through the living room. His eyes took in every detail of the fit body, but they paused on the bullet wound on the priest's left shoulder, and his lips pulled into a frown, but only for a moment as Sherlock remembered his mission. Food underground was running low and it was his turn to fetch a new supply, and Mycroft was in the mood for a man of religion; so priest it would be. Even if it had to be this intriguing priest with the sandy blonde hair.  
  
It wasn't long before the bathroom light turned off, and the bedroom light turned on, signaling to Sherlock that it was time. Standing up from his position on the roof, the tall and lithe Kaster stretched out his long legs to relieve the slight cramping from his long-held position and leapt to the ground below. He landed on his feet without a sound and made his way across the street while using the shadows for cover. Upon reaching the home, he made his way up the steps and rang the doorbell, his excitement coursing through his veins didn't show outwardly, as he kept a face that was a mask of indifference for now. He could almost hear his brother in his head, chiding him for not having better control at the moment. He mentally waved off his brother and rang the doorbell once more, shifting his emotional mask.  
  
Dim lighting spilled out of the cracked door way, only slightly blinding Sherlock for a moment in contrast to the darkness outside. He looked at the priest's cautious face, his eyes pleading with shame.  
  
"I'm terribly sorry to bother you at this hour, Sir, but might you have any food to spare?" Sherlock questioned, his voice trembling slightly as part of his act. _And the trap is set,_ he thought as he played it all out in his mind. The human would let him in, he would offer up his gems, the bait would be taken, and food would be home soon enough. It was all very simple.  
  
The man regarded him for a moment before a small smile graced his lips and he spoke with a gentle tone as he answered. "Please, come in, at least until the storm lets up," he said as he stepped back to open the door wider, granting the 'beggar' entry.  
  
Once he was all the way inside the home, Sherlock turned and faced the priest's back while letting his makeshift hood fall back, revealing his face. The moment the man turned and saw him, Sherlock watched his eyes darken with unmistakable lust, and his cheeks start to color with flush as his pulse showed at the hollow of his slightly tan throat. **_Go on, little human, take a good look at your potential killer_** , he thought as he watched the man lick his lips before he spoke again.  
  
"Let me get you a towel... Please, have a seat by the fire."  
  
Sherlock's eyes followed the priest's retreating form, noticing the slight bulge at the base of his spine. **_Gun. A priest with a gun. No. Soldier, no longer active, though his memories of time spent in enemy lands still haunt him as if he never even left, judging by the slightly haunted look in his eyes._** Pushing his soaked blanket off of his shoulders, the water-logged material pooled at his feet with a wet thump, and immediately the fire's warmth reached his cold flesh. Leaving his blanket where it lay, he moved to the fireplace, standing close enough to warm, and just close enough to not overheat.  
  
 _ **He had to leave, possibly that scar, or rather what had caused it. He never would have left otherwise, he fights for the better cause obviously judging how he went from Army Service to Priesthood. It was still a war, albeit a religious war.**_ He let his eyes scam the room, seeking information about the priest, anything to tell his hungry mind more. **_No army photos, no paintings, or really anything for decoration._** He glanced to the kitchen. **_Nothing is on, he hadn't started dinner yet._**  
  
A noise from where the man had disappeared made Sherlock turn his head at the same time as his host returned, carrying a towel. The lust-filled gaze from earlier had been replaced by a neutral stare until he saw Sherlock's body, naked and basked in the glow of fire light. As the man's pupils grew large with his returning lust, Sherlock treated him to a slight smirk. "Welcome back kind sir," he said in greeting, "thank you for letting me into your home."  
  
There was a flash of recognition and awareness in those gorgeous blue eyes before a curtain of neutrality attempted to fall, but it was too late. Sherlock's high perception caught it in that moment and he restrained a smile of satisfaction. **_A tug at the bait..._** He thought as he concluded that the priest obviously realized what Sherlock was. _**His eyes went straight to the gems, but those are obviously not his only point of interest, seeing as his eyes lingered a moment on my torso and lower. Priests don't make much in their profession, his greed will get the better of him soon.**_  
  
"You're welcome," he finally spoke, but his voice was partially not focused, neither was his brain obviously. "I, um, thought you were clothed underneath your cloak..."  
  
Sherlock saw the way the man tried to be discreet about tensing up as his movements brought him closer to his soon-to-be victim, and he reached for the towel as it was held out to him. **_I could touch him right now,_** he mused, **_and take him home. Why bother beating around the bush? Because he's interesting,_** he answered himself. **_Just a little longer..._**  
  
"No sir, I had only my blanket on my person," he answered as he started drying off his person. "I just used a section of it to form a hood of sorts."             
  
"If you would like, I could let you borrow a robe while I cook, and you can dry yourself off?"  
  
"If you would prefer I wear one, then I shall," Sherlock replied with a small grin. _**He doesn't want to get caught staring at my gems or myself. He knows what am and has yet to even acknowledge the subject.**_  
  
The man gave a nod and as walked quickly and calmly as he could out of the room to fetch the offered up robe. In his absence, different events and outcomes were filtered through Sherlock's mind. How he could get the greedy side, that all men have, to show through; how he could succeed in bringing home dinner. His thoughts came to a halt and his brow furrowed in confusion at the sick feeling that rose in his stomach so suddenly when an image filtered into his mind of Mycroft taking part in ripping into the man's flesh. It was wrong to Sherlock, his brother getting to taste the priest's body, and with that realization, Sherlock changed the tracks his train of thought was on. As long as he could help it, Mycroft would eat some other holy man.  
  
Then again, why did it matter? He was just a human; he was prey to be eaten. Why did it matter who consumed him? **_Because he is my hunt,_** Sherlock thought, reasoning with himself, as he knelt by the fire and began drying his hair. **_Mycroft hasn't hunted for our dinners in a long while... It's his turn to 'earn his keep', as he so politely puts it each time he sends me out._ ** When he smelled the human's return, he sat up and peered out at him from under the towel.  
  
"I brought the robe..." The man's words were almost lost with how low he spoke.  
  
Sherlock rose to his feet, standing taller than the human, and strode towards him, testing how itchy the man's trigger finger would get with danger getting so close. He purposely stopped with a mere foot between them, and was shocked, yet secretly pleased deep down, at how calm and clear-headed the man stayed. "Thank you for your kindness," he said as he took the offered robe and began to pull it on. "Might I ask you for your name sir?"  
  
"John," he answered as he looked up into Sherlock's eyes that stared down at him. "My name is John Watson, and your name?"  
  
 ** _He's looking straight into my eyes. I can't recall the last time I was given such courtesy..._** "My name is Sherlock Holmes," he said with a smile. "It's a pleasure."  
  
"Yes, the pleasure's all mine- I mean, yes, a pleasure to meet you as well. So, ah, what could I get you to eat? You said you wanted food, yes?"  
  
 _ **Still offering though he has nothing ready... If he wants to cook then I won't stop him. It's been a while since I ate like a human.**_ "I believe you said you were going to be cooking," Sherlock remarked as he tied the robe loosely shut, to ensure that some of his jeweled skin was still being reached by the glow of the fire, and resumed drying his hair. "I'm already imposing as is, so I will just eat a helping of what you had planned on making yourself."  
  
"Alright. Until food is on, you can stay here and warm up. I can also throw your blanket in the dryer for you if you would like? Help it dry?"  
  
 _ **Now you're not even looking at anything besides my eyes,**_ he thought. **_You're such an intriguing little man, John Watson._** He walked to his blanket and picked up the wet mass before he held it out, handing it over. "You're too kind, John."  
  
Sherlock was caught off guard by how quickly John's eyes had darkened with lust again; he was in no way used to someone wanting him instead of his gems. The lust didn't stay long though, because it was quickly replaced by a mixture of shame and confusion. ** _You haven't figured out your interests yet,_ ** he thought as he watched John turn and disappear into what he figured to be the laundry room. ** _He's interested, but he possibly won't let himself see he's interested, or he just doesn't even know that he is interested in the same sex._ ** He faced the fire and resumed warming up as he waited for John.  
  
 ** _Why does it matter, brother mine?_**  
  
Sherlock sneered into the fire at his brother's voice intruding in his thoughts.  
  
 ** _He's human, therefore he is food, now get back to business. No more distractions or beating around the bush._**  
  
He pushed the thought form of his brother from his mind and stopping using the towel to dry his hair since it was as dry as the towel and fire's heat could get it. He hung the towel by the fire so it would dry, and began exploring the living room. **_Back to earlier,_** he thought as he revisited his prior thought process from before John had returned with the towel. ** _No army photos. No family photos. No toys laying about as a sign of little ones. Maybe divorce? Definitely a divorce, her decision. He's far too loyal to his cause to leave someone. Right now they are absent because the soon-to-be ex-wife has the offspring with her at her parents' home._** He paused when he heard the dryer door shut, followed by the sound of it starting, and then the sounds of his host moving into the kitchen.  
  
 ** _It explains dinner not being ready for him after work, and the streaking from the-_** Unexpectedly his thought train switched tracks and the image went through his mind of John appearing naked as he crossed through the living room to the other side of the house. That well taken care of body, barely hidden by the sheer curtains, caused a reaction that was alien to the Kaster; it was desire. He had no other memory tucked away in the rooms of his vast mind palace that even resembled desire for another being. John Watson was no ordinary prey because he was different than the others, in so many ways so far that Sherlock was oddly eager to see more. He put his train back on its proper track of thought, but not before chiding himself. _**The streaking from one room to the other.**_  
  
After he had heard a few cabinets open and close, followed by some more shuffling about, he walked to the kitchen and leaned in the empty doorway to watch his host.  
  
John had begun setting up to make sandwiches, and the way he was facing the small kitchen island also had him facing the window to the backyard. The very window that was darkened by the night, allowed Sherlock to watch the play of emotions on John's face as he put the kettle on and went back to work on preparing their food. The way John's brows furrowed and unfurrowed, the slight pucker that was mainly focused to the middle of his tempting lips before they pulled straight, into a partial frown. As his hands moved to make their food, his eyes seemed to stare off in deep thought, as if he were mentally searching for answers to something.  
  
Reluctantly, Sherlock admitted to himself that he wanted to know what answers John was looking for so that he could hopefully give them. **_Is that what I look like when I search my mind palace?_** Sherlock mused as he slightly lowered the shoulder of the robe, just enough to expose some smaller gems that were scattered over his clavicle. **_Does he have a mind palace?_**  
  
"Do you live alone?" Sherlock asked and watched as John gave a slight start and looked over at him, his eyes grazing over the Kaster's body in a quick sweep that did not go unnoticed by Sherlock.  
  
"Yes, I do," John answered as he tore his eyes away to focus on making the sandwiches. "Your, um, the robe has sort of fallen o-open."  
  
When John looked away Sherlock quickly pulled the robe back up to where it was supposed to be, and did his best to hide his self-irritation. **_There's always something!_ ** The walls of his mind palace trembled with his mental growl. His anger died some as he caught John peeking over at him and he took care to pretend as if he didn't notice. "Never married?" He questioned, and was glad to detect that his voice held no sign of the anger he felt.  
  
"And no kids," John replied. "Why do you ask?"  
  
As soon as John asked him why, a switch flipped in his brain, turning on his need to explain and educate, and his answer flowed.  
  
"I couldn't help but notice the lack of family photos on the mantle, the walls, or any surfaces. You also haven't mentioned that we should be quiet lest we accidentally wake someone up." He motioned to John's left hand. "Also, no tan lines where a ring would have been had you been betrothed." _**I should have noticed that sooner, but the lighting is MUCH better in here than in your living room.**_ "The lack of decor, or even a woman's touch, is the final piece that gives away your solitude. I was just asking to start conversation."  
  
During his explanation, Sherlock had been so focused on his points that he hadn't noticed something. John's movements had stopped. Now, however, he was well aware of the still form, and he looked at John's eyes, expecting to see the usual anger he received from one of his "teachings", but instead he saw something unfamiliar to him. "What?"  
  
 ** _Now you've done it, brother mine,_** teased the version of Mycroft that haunted the halls of his mind palace. **_You've pissed him off, like all of the others. It will be harder to get him close enough to touch you now._**  
  
"That was...amazing," John answered with an awe-filled voice. "Do you always do that?"  
  
In his mind palace Sherlock smiled, while he kept his outward face neutral. "Do what exactly?"  
  
"You noticed only a few things, yet you got all of that information from it."  
  
"I do pride myself on my deductions," Sherlock said as he watched John return to making the temporarily forgotten sandwiches. "You're impressed, are you?"  
  
 ** _Shut up Mycroft,_** Sherlock commanded, sufficiently ridding his halls of his brother. **_He appreciates it._** His eyes followed the man as he set the finished sandwiches on plates, set up the tea tray, and walked out with the tea tray. Grabbing the plates with their food, Sherlock followed after John, stopping a little behind him and waited patiently for him to set up the kettle and their cups. He met John's eyes when he turned and faced him.  
  
"Oh, um, thank you Sherlock."  
  
"You're welcome John. You took me in for the evening, clothed me, even if only temporarily, and you didn't tell me to 'piss off' when I deduced you. The least I could do would be to help you lay out dinner." **_You're also the first person to not jeer at me for my deductions. You didn't call me a 'Freak'._** Even if his mind the word was spoken with venom. _ **John Watson, I might just spare your life tonight.**_  
  
"I hope you like the sandwiches, Sherlock, I wasn't sure what to make."  
  
"It should be fine," Sherlock smiled as he took a sip of his tea. **_My God, he makes amazing tea. Better than some other attempts people have tried serving me. It's almost as if he actually tried instead of just throwing it on and letting it burn._** "Why did you not marry?" He questioned as he set his cup down.  
  
"I went into the Royal Army young, and I didn't want to have someone waiting around for bad news," he answered before he took a bite of his sandwich. "I was only a doctor, but you know... I had bad days."  
  
"And after?" He questioned as he quirked a brow as he stared at John to read his answer.  
  
"I tried a few times at dating, but nothing really panned out," he said before taking a sip of his tea. "So, for now, I've stopped looking and I'm content being alone."  
  
 _ **No you're not,**_ Sherlock thought as he listened to John's spoken answer, and the unspoken words behind it. **_You miss your time with your comrades._** "And you haven't found someone within your flock, Priest?"  
  
He watched as John set his sandwich down, his body visibly tensing up as he shook his head. After a moment he did finally answer. "Not that any of the church-goers are not special, but none of them really have the qualities that I seek in a partner."  
  
 ** _They're not dangerous, like me._** "I see." Sherlock nibbled at his sandwich. "This is truly delicious, John, thank you again for your aid tonight. I would not feel right if I did not repay you for your hospitality." _**Yes, tonight I will spare your life,**_ he thought, _**and the rain has stopped, so I must be going soon.**_  
  
John surprised him once more by meeting his eyes again, as if it were normal between the two of them. "I don't want anything in return. I've gotten enough from having helped you in your time of need. Sherlock, your thanks is just fine."  
  
John's words, the sincerity ringing through them, touched something inside Sherlock; they didn't waver with hesitation, or regret at turning down repayment. He was the first genuine human Sherlock had come across, and he didn't want to let him go. Sherlock finished off his tea and set the cup down. "I do believe the rain has stopped," he announced, wondering what John's reaction would be.  
  
John's eyes danced with an array of emotions as he listened to see if Sherlock was right, the emotions stopping at disappointment before they came to meet his own. As they stared at one another, Sherlock could read everything going on in John's brilliant blue eyes.  
  
 ** _He doesn't want me to go, doesn't know how to keep me..._** Sherlock's deductions threw him for a loop and made him feel slightly dizzy with excitement. _**He's got to come with me. This man is no longer food. He is**_ my _ **John Watson.**_  
  
"So...does this mean you'll be going then?"  
  
"I had only planned on staying until the rain had slowed," Sherlock answered, regarding John with a slight curiosity as he now set his mind on trying to figure out how to take John with him. "I've overstayed my welc-"  
  
"No." John interrupted. "No you haven't. I've really enjoyed your company, and as I already said, I don't get much. You could even stay longer if you would like."  
  
Sherlock rose to his feet and looked down at John. "I do have to take my leave, I'm afraid, would you please see if my blanket is dry?" He watched as John gave a short nod and rose to his feet before he left him in the dining room to go to the laundry room. While he was alone, Sherlock removed the robe and folded it over the back of the chair he had been sitting in, wishing he could stay, but he knew he couldn't. He would have to trick John into touching him so that he could kidnap him. **_No. No tricking. John deserves to decide whether he stays here or goes with me._**  
  
When John returned and handed over his blanket, stating it was dry and warm, Sherlock wrapped it around himself and then looked at the priest. "Are you sure I couldn't repay you?" He questioned. "You could take one of my gems if you like. A ruby perhaps? Maybe a spinel or emerald?"  
  
"I already told you Sherlock, I got enough from helping you, and from enjoying your company," John answered as he walked with him to the door. "Will I see you again? Around town I mean."  
  
Sherlock locked eyes with John one last time as he stepped out into the night and pulled a section of the blanket into a hood that he pulled over his head. _**S** **od it all.**_ "There's only one way to see me again, John," he spoke softly, his deep voice barely heard.  
  
"How?" Gone was the hesitation from earlier as it was replaced with a slight desperation as they looked at each other.  
  
Reaching his arm out to John, Sherlock spoke again, and hoped that he would not be denied. "Take my hand."  
  
John looked down at the offered hand and then looked up to Sherlock's face, allowing the Kaster to watch the small play of emotions on John's face as the man stayed still. His heart felt as if it were sinking to his stomach in the heavy silence that was slowly becoming more and more awkward. Until a hand slipped into his own. He locked eyes with John, and both men shared a smile before Sherlock led his John, who happily followed his Sherlock, out into the darkness and into the new life John had chosen. Mycroft's hunger be damned.

**Author's Note:**

> Well I hope you all enjoyed the read, and I would love to hear what you thought of it!


End file.
